Short Vassals Poems

At the table of wisdom
Knowledge will seek audience 
Vassals rolls out of creek
Paying homage to understanding 
Alas, unforeseen doom lurking 
Doom, even for the enlightened 
Patience the cure
Patience lead the realm
The conclave of the wise...

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The city so still
Not one soul alive
Not one spark of warmth

High on top of the tower he lies
Looking downward onto the silent city
Alone with darkness that consumed him
In the embrace of winter

He watched and judged those beneath him
If they should live or be extinguished

Now only bones and ash are his vassals
Corpses of steel and brick are his empire

His bitter voice the word of death...

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As soon as we wish, it becomes.
We live in gold and castles.
This is our god, we are his vassals.
We fly in a clear blue sky. 

You say:" Wake up, wake up, wake up.
Life ain't never a happy ending. This 
Isn't happening you know? Look
Straight at the burning reality."

So you, want us to see a burning sky
Where we are falling out of grace of
And where our only escape are the flames.
Now, who is going to save us, save us, save us?...

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we hold in our hands the narrative

we artists and social scientists

21st century armaggedon screaming

dysfunctional children of history

living by purely subconscious, instinctual visceral pulsing

product of a campaign of vassals dedicated to erasing history

here we are.

so what do we do, we artists and social scientists?

we scream

we cry

we bleed

but also, and very important

we analyze

we do all this 

and we can call ourselves humans

and the true heir to what we call

history....

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